Swan City
by SteveElOtaku
Summary: Lollipop Chainsaw fic, pre game. What if Swan narrated his life, Sin City style? Drabble-ish fic. One shot.


Swan City

San Romero.

People call it heaven on earth, a paradise of sun, and glamour. I know it for what it is, what's beneath the surface. The emperor's new clothes have never fit better, because it may as well be naked under that tourist veneer it projects.

My name is Swan. I'm eighteen, but God only knows how long that'll last.

Right now, it might be all over.

One of San Romero's finest football players is giving me a real privilege, one that people pay to see. He's kicking the shit out of me, and this is apparently the height of American entertainment.

Philistines.

Right now, though, he's being surprisingly artistic. My blood is creating a rather nice Jackson Pollock on the sidewalk and I have to say, it's better than his schoolwork. I fight back. It's useless, I know. I just want the satisfaction of being able to fail on my own terms.

He calls me a faggot as he punches me again. I think I hear a bone break. I don't care. I'm used to it. But that never stops me from praying I won't get targeted for one day. And my prayers must fall on deaf ears because every day it never changes. If there's a Heaven, I hope someone's seeing all this.

Speaking of Heaven, in walks Juliet Starling.

Blonde. Perky. One hot dame with legs that'd make a Steinway go off tune just thinking about competing with them. Her smile is just as white as ivory keys and it seemingly sparkles. When she speaks, it's like the greatest aria ever written. Maybe not lyrics-wise. "Like totally" isn't one of Mozart's best remembered recitatives. But her voice's melody is pitch-perfect. Of course, a goddess like her doesn't even know I exist. I'm hoping she will though.

Some dames dream of a knight in shining armor saving them. All the Knights here are assholes. But I'm certain she's got her shining-armour dreamboat already picked out.

I sigh and let her walk by me. God, she doesn't even notice. But I notice every detail and admire it, like a work of art. But like art...we're separated, by barriers I can't cross...can't touch…if only I was any good at art theft.

The bully's face looks rotten to me even as he continues to beat me. I imagine him decaying, the world decaying all around me...They're all rotten. This society is rotten and when the last sinews hit rigor mortis, snap, and fall off the whole fucking house of cards will fall and I'll be the only man standing.

The beating stops.

Thank God.

I let the bully go, knowing he won't get any shit for it. I'm just waiting to make this all the sweeter when I watch the life drain from his eyes.

Like that'll ever happen.

I don't cry. If I had any tears they were shed long ago. I'm too weak to even cry anymore. It's just a fact now. They say men don't cry. I've never terribly cared for what "they" think.

Getting up is an exercise in frustration. Reattach dislocated fingers. Stop coughing up blood. The bell rings for class and I don't even care. I stalk off, feeling my bones click and grind.

I sneak into class and teacher doesn't even notice.

That is until I realize I forgot to wipe the blood from my face.

It's like being stuck in _Planet of the Apes. _All these damn primates looking at me like I'm some kind of freak.

"Hey loser, what's wrong? Spill your makeup?"

"Swan, you're supposed to wash up after meals! What will daddy Dracula say?"

The teacher tries to shut them up. Barely. He's old, pathetic. Any authority he ever had is withered and dead, much like my heart, and my family…

Speaking of family, my dad might have been distant…but I'm not letting jocko-boy here insult him.

My parents are dead.

I practically scream that at him. I try to slam a punch into that thick skull of his, knowing on some level it's going to hurt, but I don't care. I jab a thumb into his eye. Something tells me to stop. I don't listen.

The teacher's coming over, pissed I dared to injure his rat bastard of a favourite pupil.

I stop him with a very pointed look.

"What would you have done, sir? No one even bothered to stop the guy who was beating me to a pulp this morning…this blood is my own. So forgive me if I'm not exactly thrilled by the prospect of staying here."

I want to add a pointed "Fuck you all."

I don't, because the next thing that happens is my skull hitting tile like a .44 magnum round.

I awake sometime later, in the principal's office.

"You again."

Oh, big surprise, sir. Why don't you ever drag in the real culprit, huh? Oh wait, it's because they don't look like Marilyn Manson got busy with Elvira.

The fat, middle aged human waste begins ranting at me. Oh joy, how I'd missed this. I begin taking a mental checklist of all the clichés he's about to spew at me.

"Antisocial attitude."

Check.

"Complete lack of cooperation…"

Check.

"Violent tendencies."

Check, but oh did that cross the line.

"Sorry sir, but I object to that one. Every day, I walk to school and get beaten to the point where my bones are dislocated, sometimes broken, and I'm coughing up blood! And you want to know who's doing it? Not the Goths! Not the punks! Not any of your favourite social ills! The football team, the baseball team, anyone in the athletics department!"

His response is predictably trite and ignorant.

"Swan, if you could provide more evidence and fewer baseless accusations…"

"Baseless? FUCKING BASELESS?"

I rant at him for a good ten minutes.

"So, answer me, Mr. Pillar of the Community, what do you propose? Here's a solution you'd LOVE. Get rid of me. Drag me out behind the sheds and blow my fucking brains out, because clearly I'm a burden to you. "

"Swan, please, you're a brilliant student, if only you'd maintain a better outlook on life…"

"You try being cheerful when you're reattaching your jaw!"

He's not getting any of this. Big surprise. He's like a sieve. Anything he doesn't like just slips through unnoticed. But he's not catching any gold in it. Instead, he's too busy smiling and taking pictures, and being a patronizing idiot to notice someone's dumping their septic tank through it and he's panning for shit.

I storm out of his office, leaving him with an inordinately profane rant that he can't even process. Typical.

I hate this town. I hate everything about it. And I hate the school system most of all. Every grade it's the same. I pass everything with flying colours, but my work never gets held up. I study hard for everything, and the idiots who cram and cheat get the scholarships. I try for fair play and sportsmanship despite not liking sports, but every game rapidly becomes about beating me into the dirt. I try to even enjoy social events, but it's not a party unless I'm strung up from the rafters. And then, after they've insulted, beaten, humiliated, and broken me, who gets dragged off for more punishment? Me. They practically get medals for it.

And then, just when I think today can't get any worse, I walk by a bunch of girls.

They try to whisper, but I can hear every word they say.

"Freak."

"Ugly."

"Creepy douche."

"Vampire."

"Frankenstein."

"Zombie."

I ignore them. Or at least, I try to.

Then Heaven's light shines on me.

"Hey Swan."

Juliet Starling. Fuck, why now of all times?

I want to say it. I want to tell her I love her, that I don't care what boundaries I'm crossing, what rules I'm violating. But I can't. My tongue is more tangled than the cheer team's dating scene. So instead I wave at her like a damn fool.

"Have a nice day, Swan!"

I get out some words, finally.

"Oh trust me, tomorrow will be better…"

Then I run. Run all the way home, jabbed by taunts, punches, and insults.

Tomorrow will be better, I decide, entering the house.

I pull a book from the shelf, smirking and laughing. The phone rings.

"Yes. Thank you. Just have it behind the sheds at San Romero High…"

I laugh heartily for the first time today.

Tomorrow will be better.

"Happy Birthday, Juliet…I hope your 18th goes off with a bang…"

Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.


End file.
